A gift, a present
None delinquent

Innocent, it was

Pure from the box
from whence it came

Unstained from sin,
ready for adrenaline

No, no

Thick skinned antique

Look at me

No more critiques.

You
poor
immaculate
plush

You
smell like
rich
unrefined
sagebrush.

Needless discourse
for the
ironic workhorse

I shall leave you behind,
the prophets tell me

Your fate
was
designed
to be

declined.

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